


Collared

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Collars, Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Service Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: Crowley keeps buying Aziraphale collars. They just seem to suit different moods. And some are more important than others.





	Collared

**Author's Note:**

> This one came out of a discord convo and I promised to write it... and I did!

            Crowley had asked him first, of course. If he would be interested, in a collar, if there was anything that might spark his fancy. That it didn’t have to be A Big Deal, it could be one just for play or for the aesthetic of it. Aziraphale had said yes, had gotten that glow in his eyes…

 

            Aziraphale hadn’t had any idea about what he’d wanted, though. He’d given Crowley free rein and a kiss on the cheek, and Crowley…

 

            Crowley just couldn’t choose.

 

\---/-/---

 

            The first collar Crowley presents Aziraphale with is standard bondage gear. Sleek black leather, about an inch and a half wide, a gleaming silvery O-ring at the front, perfect for hooking a finger through and tugging. Perfect for putting Aziraphale in and making him kneel… perfect for when he has a prim and proper little angel who needs to be brought in line with a good spanking, with sharp teeth in his shoulder, with hands digging in hard to soft flesh.

 

            The moment it’s on, Aziraphale changes—no, Aziraphale _intensifies_. His wide eyes, naïve and trusting, and green as Crowley’s prized personal garden… they become moreso, they take on an unreal innocence, they shine with more and more love the more Crowley pushes him down or hauls him up or tosses him to the bed…

 

            The first time Crowley had tried to take it off, he’d been so distraught at the very idea that Crowley had him sleep in it, and he actually had slept, he’d curled up in the middle of Crowley’s big bed, wrapped in a kitten-soft blanket, white and fluffy as a cloud, standing out against the dark silk sheets. He’d slept with his cheek against Crowley’s thigh, and Crowley’s hand in his hair. Not all night, but…

 

            It had been something. And he’d let Crowley talk him out of the collar and into a nice soak in a ridiculously luxurious bathtub when he’d woken up.

 

\---/-/---

 

            The second collar Crowley puts Aziraphale in isn’t really a collar, exactly. It’s more of a choker, of wide soft lace. White as his wings, white as the lingerie he’d bought to dress him up in.

 

            He’d bought it because of the little gold charm dangling from the front—there had been some awful ones, ones with jingle bells or hearts that said ‘baby girl’ of all things, or ‘kitten’, and kitten was better but it wasn’t _Aziraphale_ —a little golden wing, just the outline of one, the bare shape of it, and a single perfect pearl.

 

            He puts it on after he’s put Aziraphale in the stockings, the garter belt, the lacy harness that frames the soft swells of his chest, accentuates his torso. Yes, that is perfect… the lace tops of the stockings around the thickest part of the thigh, love handles just over the garter belt, and then that harness, silky straps and wide bands of soft stretch lace… it shows off how _soft_ his angel is. Makes him look like a sweet little _treat_ , he doesn’t even have to unwrap him to enjoy him.

 

            So he’d expected sweetness. Softness. After all, Aziraphale thrilled to being his, had been so lovely for him before.

 

            He’d gotten the collar in place, though, and what he’d seen come across Aziraphale’s face…

 

            _Smug_.

 

            Oh, yes, he’d found something unexpected. He’d created a monster, he had. Aziraphale all decked out in lace demanded to be treated like the pretty soft thing he was all done up as. He’d sat himself down right _in Crowley’s throne_ and crossed one leg slowly over the other, held it at an angle that spoke to purposeful seduction and lifted his chin and given him a look that asked just what he was going to do about it, the little brat. And Crowley hadn’t had anything sturdy to grab onto and haul him up by in this new collar.

 

            He could have picked him up, carried him through the flat and thrown him down on the bed, could have ripped all that lace to shreds and fucked him rough…

 

            He couldn’t have.

 

            He gave him a few good swats for that throne business, not that it seemed to break Aziraphale’s imperiousness. He’d bitten all over his soft chest and had Aziraphale in his lap riding him, only Aziraphale had put on such a _show_ of it…

 

            Sure, Crowley knew he was wrapped around Aziraphale’s little finger, knew Aziraphale was the real boss, but Aziraphale wasn’t supposed to—or, he wasn’t supposed to act like it!

 

            Still… it was kind of sexy. And he finally had an actual pretense for a spanking, even if the real punishment was withholding a better one.

 

\---/-/---

 

            The third collar Crowley bought was another choker, really—a velvet ribbon, moss green, almost a match to his eyes, though not nearly as beautiful. No tags, no charms, no rings… unlike the lace one, this was narrow enough to wear down at the base of his throat, to be totally hidden by his shirt collar. Flat, soft, secret.

 

            Something he could change him into, if the idea of losing the feeling of being collared was unbearable, if he still wanted to be able to get on with his day. It was like that sometimes, especially if they’d had an intense night… and you couldn’t predict intense, it wasn’t as simple as avoiding the rough stuff, it could be anything. It could be an ordinary night where they hadn’t even planned to play those games, only for Aziraphale to grab his wrist and plead with him suddenly, and…

 

            Well, who was Crowley to say no? Who was Crowley ever to say no?

 

            Aziraphale carries on as normal in the velvet choker, mostly. He opens the shop, deals with customers if he has no choice in the matter. Goes out to run errands or do little good deeds. Goes out to lunch with Crowley and is mostly as ever. It just helps bridge the gap between belonging to Crowley and belonging to himself again. He has trouble belonging to himself some days, and it doesn’t always mean needing kinky games, sometimes it only means… it only means he needs a safety net, and he trusts Crowley to do that for him now.

 

\---/-/---

 

            The fourth collar Crowley bought was… sweet. Baby blue leather. Thinner than the black one. No big sturdy ring for pulling on, just one to hold the heart-shaped tag engraved with the word ‘ANGEL’.

 

            It locked into place like the black one, and Aziraphale held still for him to put it on—after all, even if he couldn’t unlock it by hand, in an emergency he would be able to miracle it off, but he never has…

 

            And then, Aziraphale had knelt, on the cushion Crowley provided, set just there before his throne, and he’d laid his head on Crowley’s knee, and Crowley had stroked through his hair…

 

            He’d fed him little nibbles from a silver tray, and tilted a goblet of wine to his lips, between sips of his own.

 

            He had thoroughly spoiled his pet, and once more, Aziraphale hadn’t let him take the collar back off, not even when he’d promised the day collar in exchange, not until after he’d slept and had a nice hot soak all cuddled up to Crowley’s chest in his enormous tub.

 

            Crowley’s bathtub has its own waterfall, a feature Aziraphale had called decadent before he’d had the pleasure of lifting his leg from the heat of the bath, for a sheet of lukewarm water to flow over, of soaping up and then sliding over underneath it to be rinsed clean, the water constantly recycling and filtering, in a system that ran on Crowley’s idea of what it should be more than on any sort of plumbing.

 

            He’d washed Aziraphale’s hair, after that, just for the pleasure of doing so, and left him smelling of Crowley’s fancy shampoo and conditioner.

 

\---/-/---

 

            The fifth time Crowley had bought a collar for Aziraphale, he’d been serious. Not that he wasn’t, with the others, not that he considers this a replacement—each one suits a different mood or need.

 

            This one serves its own purpose, he thinks. An important one.

 

            “We’re going out.” He nuzzles at Aziraphale’s ear from behind as he dresses him, a bright white blouse, something like Aziraphale had worn two hundred years back, though he’d never worn it open without waistcoat and cravat, he’d rarely even appeared in his shirtsleeves, to Crowley’s knowledge. Except once or twice he’d stripped down to his shirtsleeves in his own back room, to drink long into the night, and Crowley would do the same, and set his glasses aside…

 

            Long before they took such liberties with each other… though they did sometimes touch each other freely, in less personal ways. An arm offered and taken. A handshake over some agreement. A lingering moment now and then when their hands might brush on a railing, or over a passed object…

 

            He hadn’t known his own longing for its full self then, but he’d known Aziraphale made him feel, in a way others couldn’t.

 

            “What sort of place are we going out dressed like this, might I ask?”

 

            “Nice, quiet little club. With a nice wine list, and a decadent small bites menu. The kind of place where I can show you off.” Crowley promises, feeling him shiver.

 

            “I feel half-dressed…”

 

            “Good.” He hisses, tongue flicking out to tickle his neck. “It’s that kind of place.”

 

            “Are these trousers too tight?”

 

            Crowley leans back and enjoys the view. “Not from where I’m standing.”

 

            Buff leather, not obscenely tight, but well fitted. Enough room in the front for modesty’s sake, but Aziraphale’s thighs are very nicely shown off, and his arse… They don’t look at all rock-and-roll, they look old-fashioned. Like Aziraphale ought to be on horseback in some Merchant-Ivory picture.

 

            “I have something for you.” He moves around him, picks up the box and presents it, pulls back the lid to let Aziraphale look. To drink in his gasp and the look in his eyes.

 

            “ _Oh_ , Crowley… Crowley, it’s _beautiful_. For me?” He glances up, meeting Crowley’s eyes, but he can’t keep his own off of the thing for long.

 

            Gold, with two delicate little hinges to either side of the smooth, perfect front of it, the gentle curve… and there, engraved in fine detail where it would sit just by the hollow of his throat, a snake coiled into an infinity symbol.

 

            “Do you like it? If you like it, it’s yours.”

 

            “It’s _wonderful_. Oh, _Crowley_ …” He lifts a wondering hand, traces over it with trembling fingertips. “Do you remember… Victorian times, they—they made all that jewelry, with snakes. You must do, you enjoyed the fad so much. It was—it was quite popular, for—“

 

            He swallows, and can’t continue.

 

            “Wedding rings. Symbolized eternity.” Crowley nods. “Do you like it?”

 

            “Oh, _very_ much.” Aziraphale nods as well, fervent, eager. “Will you--?”

 

            “Of course.” Crowley whispers, and he picks it up, reverent, and moves to clasp it around Aziraphale’s throat.

 

            “ _Oh_.” Aziraphale’s hand flutters up, and he caresses the engraved serpent once more, tracing over it. Crowley circles back around to face him and sees the rapture in his expression.

 

            “It suits you.” He brushes his own fingertips across Aziraphale’s hand, then up to his cheek. “Aziraphale… who do you belong to?”

 

            “You. Always.”

 

            “And how long will I protect you?” He leans in, his voice falling away in the face of the monumental feeling of the moment.

 

            “Forever.” Aziraphale reaches for him in turn.

 

            “And will I ever let you want for anything?”

 

            “No.”

 

            “And will I love you with all that’s in me?”

 

            “ _Yes_.”

 

            “ _Yes_. And where is my heart, ever?”

 

            “With me.”

 

            “That’s right.” He presses their foreheads together. “You look beautiful. Can I take you out to celebrate?”

 

            “Oh, yes. We—we have something to celebrate, don’t we?” His grin lights the room. He tilts his head and struggles against the force of it to be able to kiss Crowley properly. “Yes—you—you must show me off, then. I should very much like to be seen on your arm.”

 

            “That’s my dove.” Crowley smiles, he might even admit that it’s a tender one, he might admit that to the combined rulers of Hell. He feels like he could, and get away with it. “My sweetheart, my angel. My helpmeet.”


End file.
